


Girl Mad as Birds

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor [39]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When we last left the crew of the Enterprise. . . </p><p>Jean-Luc Picard, finally freed from the influence of the telepathic K'korll, was put on medical leave. Nightmares still afflict him regularly.</p><p>Deanna Troi, first officer, wife and mother, has an unborn child, a toddler, and a husband who nearly lost his life, then his sanity, and barely retains the latter. She also has Admiral Jellico aboard and a continuing mission involving the Asili, who played a major role in Picard's condition. The second officer allowed a handful of crew and civilians to take a shuttle back to Randra Alliance space on a doomed mission to find the K'korll, in hopes of helping their captain; Troi must face the repercussions of this without her captain's help. </p><p>deLio, L'norim chief of Enterprise security, took his three intended mates, three fellow officers, and a new shuttlecraft into dangerous territory in the hope that their captain will be saved by their return with a K'korll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Mad as Birds

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a difficult one. It's been more than ten years since I wrote On the Madhouse Boards. Updates may be sporadic. I have a lot of loose ends to gather.
> 
> Direct sequel to On the Madhouse Boards. Prequel to many others.

  
**part one: world's white edge**

 

  
  
_A stranger has come_

_To share my room in the house not right in the head,_

_A girl mad as birds. . . ._  
  
~~ 'Love in the Asylum,' Dylan Thomas  

 

  
  
_. . . With luck,_  
  
_Trekking stubborn through this season_  
  
_Of fatigue, I shall_  
  
_Patch together a content_  
  
_Of sorts. Miracles occur,_  
  
_If you care to call those spasmodic_  
  
_Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,_  
  
_The long wait for the angel,_  
  
_For that rare, random descent._  
  
_To the world's white edge_  
  
_She came, and called hell to subdue an unruly man_  
  
_And join her siege._  
  
~~ Sylvia Plath

 

  
  
~^~^~^~^~  
  
Deanna screamed her husband's name. In the darkness, she could sense but not see him. She stumbled, crawled forward on hands and knees, felt for him in the shifting fog which, strangely, had taken on the texture of cotton.  
  
"Mr. deLio?" She could sense him, too, out there somewhere. Others came and went, but never close enough that she could see. All around the fog, the night, not even a hint of stars overhead. "deLio! Natalia? Ward?"  
  
"Mama!"  
  
She woke abruptly. Yves yanked on the covers, stumbled backward, and struck the wall, whimpering. In the quarter-intensity light she maintained in the master bedroom, she could tell from his expression he'd been crying.  
  
"It's all right, little fish," she murmured.  
  
"Nod a fish." Yves scrubbed his eyes with his knuckles. His lower lip stuck out.  
  
She ran her fingers through his hair. "Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
"You was talkig loud. It woke me."  
  
Deanna sat up, glanced at her sleeping husband curled into a fetal position next to her, and reached for her robe, which lay across the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry, Yves."  
  
She followed him back to his room, stopping to wait for him when he wavered unsteadily. It was too late, or early, to fuss about anything, even when they passed his discarded pajama bottoms where they lay on the floor of the living room. He'd probably tripped over the cuff and wiggled out of them impatiently on his way to see her. She yawned over and over while tucking him back in and aimed for his brow but kissed his ear instead.  
  
"I wan' murfins for brek -- " Yves yawned broadly, his tongue curling, and fell asleep with his mouth open.  
  
"Muffins," she whispered to Fidele. "Remind me." The android dog sat at the head of the bed where he'd been told to sit. One ear twitched. His standing orders included the injunction not to move while Yves was asleep.  
  
Jean-Luc didn't stir as she slipped into bed. Once she lay still again, however, he twitched and sighed. Deanna waited until he hadn't moved again for a full minute, then rolled on her side and wrapped an arm around her unborn child. After brief consideration of the mild tranquilizer she'd been prescribed, she opted to be available if Yves woke again, since Jean-Luc slept so soundly. Since the day he'd been freed of the K'korlls' message implanted in his mind, he'd almost returned to normal -- or so they'd thought. Over the past weeks a new set of symptoms had manifested themselves. Changes in sleeping habits, slight alterations of personality traits, brief hesitation where decisiveness had been the norm -- Dr. Mengis argued, and the clinical psychologist in her concurred, that this was all unsurprising and possibly temporary.  
  
It was the 'possibly' that had altered her own sleep habits. She watched the back of his head, so familiar, so welcome, and yet so disquieting. Her husband and bondmate had become lost in the aftermath of brain damage. She wanted him back.  
  
Perhaps that was asking too much. But, the improbable was not necessarily impossible, and he had proved his odds-defying ability to recover from this sort of thing more than once.  
  
"Come home," she whispered, reaching out, knowing that the brush of her fingertips along the nape of his neck would not wake him. She desperately hoped, however, that somehow it would reach him.  
  
\------------------------  
  
"We found it," Varian exclaimed from tactical.  
  
Natalia wandered around the darkened bridge of the Intrepid-class vessel. Reserve power still allowed most functions, but ambient lighting had dimmed to the point that even the faintest glow of panels seemed bright. The vessel seemed in good repair, from looking at the externals; she couldn't begin to assess the integrity of its inner workings without power, however. She needed to know more before any attempt to rescue the others and take the _Adamant_ back to Federation space.  
  
"Found it where?"  
  
Varian drifted -- no other word for the way he moved -- around from tactical and joined her behind the pilot's chair. His face always seemed cast in shadow, even under normal lighting. In the constant twilight of the _Adamant_ , his alabaster cheeks and sharp chin were all that was visible.  
  
"Adrift. Empty, mostly. There were a few bodies left. We intended to make use of the ship when it was cleaned and the stores replenished, but the Federation technology is not like ours. There are not enough appropriate places in this vessel for food storage. Your people do not eat much?"  
  
"Small crew." Revealing as little as possible had become a primary goal for her over the past few days. They obviously didn't know what a replicator was.  
  
"Then the few were not remnants, but the whole of the crew? But there are many living areas."  
  
"Starfleet does that on purpose, in case we have to evacuate civilians or carry troops."  
  
She thought he didn't believe her. Something in his posture, or maybe it was her own nervousness about skirting the truth? He seemed to have no facial expressions, which made him less readable than a Vulcan. What sort of body did he have under those shadowy, dark robes? His face may be white, but his long knobby fingers were a pale pinkish-gray.  
  
"We thought they must have run from the Asili, that the rest were all taken prisoner," Varian said. "The ones who remained were not intact. We mended a breach in the hull – Asili usually use docking apparatus that punch holes through any hull."  
  
Natalia wandered to ops and slid into the chair, trying to be as casually curious as possible. The display, dim but powered by auxiliary generators, showed the last few incomplete orders the second officer had started to implement. It looked like he'd been trying to jettison a beacon containing the ship's logs and turn on the ship's homing beacon.  
  
"It's really too bad we could not have rescued the crew," Varian said, his voice sounding further away.  
  
She took the chance. Placing her hand on the console, she depressed the last few keys in the sequence to activate the beacon. Hopefully it was on a frequency Varain's people didn't scan; it would be on a little-used band that Starfleet vessels used only in extreme emergencies. She spent an extra moment to key in a password for deactivation of the beacon, counting on their desire to keep the ship intact and functional to delay the eventual destruction of the communications system, which was what it would take to stop the transmission without the password. Rising, she turned to find Varian fondling the auxiliary science station, his back turned to her.  
  
"Would you like me to show you how it works?"  
  
"We have had difficulty translating the symbols," he said evenly. "We would appreciate your assistance."  
  
She joined him at the back of the bridge. "This is the environmental control panel," she said, pointing at a monitor configured to readouts of the impulse system. Quickly, she decided on a simple scheme so she could remember -- each system would be labeled consistently as another, no matter what she was looking at, and thus they would erroneously apply the written words to the incorrect functions. She suspected this would be a mistake, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment, and if it became necessary to revise, perhaps confusion could be attributed to her captors' lack of familiarity with the ship.  
  
"And this over here," she walked to tactical, Varian drifting after her, "is the navigation console."  
  
\---------------------  
  
"Species 2,385," he whispered.  
  
Deanna turned from the mirror and stared at the bed. "Jean-Luc?"  
  
"Assim. . . futile." The muscles along his jaw tensed, then he shifted and rolled on his side, facing the wall. After a long wait for him to do anything more, during which she stared at the bare shoulder and head of her husband, Deanna went back to applying makeup.  
  
"Twenty-three eighty-five," she told herself under her breath as she left the bedroom. Guinan waited in the living area for her. "He's having Borg dreams again."  
  
Guinan nodded. "Yves is delivered and appears happy enough to be in school."  
  
"If you need anything – "  
  
"You'll sense anything unusual from him, I'm sure, but I'll contact you if anything happens."  
  
"Thank you, Guinan. I don't know what I would have done without you."  
  
Guinan only smiled and turned toward the couch, where a still-steaming cup waited on an end table. Deanna gestured at Fidele, who sat near the door patiently, and led him from her quarters.  
  
The bridge was as she had expected – all officers in their places, and the same tension that had been present for the past week. Deanna nodded to them as she passed through and entered the ready room. "Computer," she exclaimed as she approached the desk. "Access file set Picard 666."  
  
"Accessing. Parameters?"  
  
Fidele, who had stayed precisely at her heel, sat in his usual place against the wall beneath the fish tank. He watched her with ears at attention as she sat behind the captain's desk.  
  
"Search database for information regarding Species 2,385." The data downloaded from Locutus years ago, decrypted and translated by Data, still lived in an encrypted part of _Enterprise_ 's computer. Though it was something Jean-Luc didn't like to use and expressed a desire to delete, the practicality of having it remained. He couldn't consciously remember everything the Borg had poured into his brain, nor could he have facilitated its transfer into Federation computers without Data's help.  
  
"Species 2,385. Humanoid. Inferior; individuals of this species lose all telepathic and nutrient-absorbing abilities upon assimilation. Most specimens destroyed. Remainder not worth pursuing."  
  
When the computer stopped, Deanna exclaimed, "Is there a visual record?"  
  
The screen came to life, rising out of the desk. She stared at the image of a shining black humanoid with no visible genitalia or mouth.  
  
"I want all details regarding this species." The Borg were relentless catalogers of data. There had to be more than the summary.  
  
"No further details available."  
  
"Why?" she exclaimed, mostly out of frustration.  
  
"Unknown."  
  
The annunciator interrupted her muttered curse. "Computer, close all files. Viewer off." She gave the screen a moment to disappear. "Come in."  
  
The admiral entered, didn't even look at Fidele, and came to sit before her. "Good morning, Commander."  
  
"Admiral."  
  
"Any news?" It had been this way every morning since they had gone back out on patrol along the border. She would be noncommittal, he would remind her to contact him the instant any contact with any race from the Randra Alliance was made, and he would go away, to appear on the bridge at random intervals.  
  
"I'm sorry, no. We're still scanning at maximum range at fifteen minute intervals."  
  
"Good." A pause. "How is the captain doing?"  
  
She met his gaze, hoping the double-take wasn't too obvious. He hadn't asked after the captain since Nechayev left. "As well as we could expect. Still not quite himself."  
  
Jellico smiled slightly. "I'm surprised you didn't send him home to recover."  
  
Deanna said nothing.  
  
"Although it must be easier for him to have you near. More difficult for you, in some respects."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Jellico's smile, what there was of it, faded. "I have been concerned for some time that the _Enterprise_ might best be given to another captain."  
  
"What do you mean?" She couldn't help it -- some of the hard, cold anger crept into her tone.  
  
"I was thinking about my own brief stint as captain of the _Enterprise_. The loyalty the senior officers displayed to Captain Picard -- it seemed that no matter what I did, it was met with resentment and resistance. I was the commanding officer of the watch; I did nothing to merit such antipathy. Other than not being Captain Picard, that is." He settled back and steepled his fingers. "And for years none of you ever transferred. Riker never accepted a promotion. Younger officers advanced through the ranks aboard this ship, then transferred to other ships so they could continue their careers, but the senior officers of the _Enterprise_ were inseparable. Then suddenly they weren't. The doctor, the first officer, then the second -- then you stepped in, sat on his right hand instead of his left, and here you are."  
  
"I fail to see the relevance to our current circumstance, Admiral."  
  
"But it's entirely relevant. Here we sit once more, and you're still resistant. I'm not even a threat -- I won't be taking the _Enterprise_ from you. In fact, if you continue to find favor with certain admirals, it's likely you'll be her next captain yourself."  
  
"No," she exclaimed, then snapped her mouth shut. That was too forceful. She was tired and weary of Jellico's presence, and it was making her reckless.  
  
"And there it is." He smiled again, almost as if he were an indulgent father. "What did he ever do to gain such loyalty?"  
  
The muscles along her jaw were beginning to ache. "Do you recall any suggestions from any of us, when you were in command?"  
  
"I believe. . . ." Jellico thought for a moment, pursing his lips. "Yes. I seem to recall a few."  
  
"Do you recall your reaction to them?"  
  
"Not really, no." He smiled with little genuine feeling as he lied. "Your point?"  
  
She stared at him, refusing to explain what he must already know, or to explain what he didn't appear to appreciate -- she had told him not long ago that she was an empath. He had to be ignoring that, or not caring that she could tell he was lying.  
  
"Nechayev favors the two of you, for reasons I can't fathom. She has to see the result of it -- have you heard, Sullivan and her security officer just had a falling-out and he's had to abandon ship duty to find a position elsewhere."  
  
"I do not indulge in gossip," Troi said firmly. "Will that be all, Admiral?"  
  
All pretense of friendliness fell away. His calculating look was the first of its kind -- she'd sensed the sharp-edged skepticism beneath his forced cordiality each time they'd met. She was right. He tested and tested her again, throwing out easy banter and hoping she would relax and talk to him.  
  
It occurred to her that she might be able to accommodate him without compromising too much. The idea warranted some consideration, she thought, but now was not the time.  
  
"I have a staff meeting in five minutes. If you will excuse me." She stood and hesitated, wondering if she should push her luck and salute him, but picked up a padd and her cup of tea instead.  
  
"Of course." He rose but remained at his chair as she headed for the door. Fidele automatically came to heel. "By the way, the dog doesn't belong on the bridge."  
  
Troi turned back. Fidele followed her around and sat down at her right heel. "This isn't a dog. Fidele, please bring the padd I left on the desk." She didn't need it, but Fidele's swift retrieval and return to heel with the padd held undamaged in his teeth would give the admiral something else to puzzle over. She let him carry it for her.  
  
The other officers left their stations on the bridge to their substitutes and followed her into the briefing room across from the ready room. Carlisle didn't really look at her. Geordi was concerned and not showing it. Rangel, now in charge of security, presented himself as attentive and confident, eager to prove himself in the absence of his superior. Mengis was all concern, hands knitted and resting on the padd before him on the table.  
  
"Dr. Mengis," Troi said, knowing it was best to get his report done first.  
  
"The captain is as he has been -- there is no discernable deterioration or improvement. The counselor and I concur on that. I left Ben with him." Mengis raised his eyes, turned slightly toward her. "In anticipation of future encounters with the Asili, I have begun level one diagnostics of all medical equipment and rescheduled the monthly inventory and restocking for tomorrow morning. Where is Admiral Jellico?"  
  
"I don't know." Troi took a moment to sip her tea. Her stomach wasn't settling. "I'm surprised he didn't follow me -- he came to the ready room just before the meeting."  
  
"Maybe he's figuring out we don't care for his -- " Rangel began, but the door opened and the admiral came in, coffee in hand.  
  
"Good morning -- no, sit down," Jellico exclaimed when everyone moved to come to attention. "Don't mind me. Sorry I'm late."  
  
"Is that all, Doctor?" Troi asked, watching Jellico settle in the chair next to Geordi. Mengis and Rangel glanced at her rather than look across the table at the admiral.  
  
"I intend to have sickbay ready for anything in forty-eight hours. There have been some fluctuations in power to the biobeds; I reported them to engineering yesterday afternoon. Mr. LaForge's subordinates are working on diagnostics this morning."  
  
"Good. Mr. LaForge?"  
  
"Engines are running as near spec as can be expected. We needed another four days at starbase -- we spent all our time on hull integrity and defensive systems. We're continuing to fine-tune as we go, but my staff is being called out for other repair work like sickbay's issue, so it's taking longer."  
  
"Ops staff should be able to help. Where is Mr. Carlisle? Mr. Edison?" Troi tapped her badge. "Troi to Edison."  
  
The doors opened again and Edison rushed in. "I'm sorry, Commander, I -- "  
  
"Won't let it happen again. Nor will you arrive looking like you combed your hair with a spanner and slept in your uniform. Sit. Troi to Carlisle."  
  
"Carlisle, here."  
  
"Define 'here.' I know it can't be the staff meeting."  
  
A pause, and a muttered curse. "Commander, I'll be there in a moment. Carlisle out."  
  
"While we're waiting, Mr. Edison, you can explain your appearance. I am willing to entertain the notion of a reasonable excuse."  
  
"I've been in astrophysics all night plotting the last of the coordinates you gave me, sir. I fell asleep -- I didn't intend to, and I thought about a stimulant a few hours ago but I was so close to finding a match in the charts for that last coordinate I didn't want to stop." Edison, like Rangel, was apparently green enough that he thought this was appropriate behavior.  
  
"And you're certain you've accurately pinpointed them all?" Jellico exclaimed. Edison, red-faced and still bearing the faint imprint of something angular on his cheek, jumped at the question as if he hadn't noticed the admiral.  
  
"Some of them were points in open space. We had to estimate. We think the coordinates may be old, the systems possibly shifted position, and we used available knowledge of star movement and the -- "  
  
"The points in open space may be accurate," Jellico interrupted. "We can't assume all of our vessels are in fact within star systems. They may be abandoned, or been absorbed into enemy fleets."  
  
Edison looked to Troi, nervous and unable to respond. She nodded. "These are valid points. Are all the coordinates within scanning range of the Alliance border?"  
  
"No. Some are several sectors away, in unknown territory. Sir -- may I ask, where did we get these coordinates?"  
  
"From the captain," she said, noticing the tensing of Jellico's jaw. "We have been told they are locations of Starfleet vessels captured by the Asili."  
  
"Commander," the admiral growled.  
  
"This is my ship," Troi exclaimed, rising from her chair. "My crew has a right to know -- they already know what we might face while traveling along these borders. They should understand why. I see no reason to keep secrets if we're to be working toward a common goal. Is this going to be a problem, Admiral?"  
  
She had let her voice rise, but not to the point of shouting. Jellico stared at her, but to her surprise he kept the anger in check. She sat down again.  
  
"I have to say that the command style utilized on this ship is not to my liking," he said once she settled. "But I have to acknowledge that you and your captain have been aboard _Enterprise_ for almost two decades, and it appears to work well enough for you. This mission is critical and you are an indispensable part of it. Therefore, I will endeavor to work with you as effectively as possible."  
  
"Thank you." She turned, sensing Carlisle's anger and frustration through the door, and before it finished opening she said, "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Lots of things. My apologies to you all," Ward said, running his fingers through already-tousled hair. "My wife chose a bad time to start a fight. I lost track of time. And on the way across the bridge, Phillips pointed something out to me -- we've picked up a faint signal from within Alliance space."  
  
"What sort of signal?" Troi was at the door and going through as he turned with her and responded.  
  
"A Starfleet vessel's distress beacon."  
  
"Mr. Edison, check the source against those coordinates we were discussing." She stood in the middle of the bridge and didn't look at Jellico as he joined her. Around her personnel shifted silently and the doctor took the counselor's chair in Ben's absence.  
  
"No correlation," Edison said from ops. "But it's close to the border -- I estimate half a sector away, from the signal strength. It's the _Adamant_."  
  
"Intrepid class. Lost last year, last known position well within Federation space," Jellico murmured.  
  
"How quickly could we reach -- "  
  
"Commander," Jellico exclaimed.  
  
Everyone on the bridge looked at him. "Yes, Admiral?" Troi said, facing him, arms crossed.  
  
"We will proceed to the first outpost, as planned."  
  
"It's a Starfleet beacon," Geordi blurted. "A Starfleet vessel is in trouble and we're within two hours at maximum warp -- it's standard procedure to respond to a distress call."  
  
"If our ships have been taken for the purpose of fortifying their own fleet, we can't assume that's really a distress call. It could easily be a trap to lure in another vessel. It may be that every vessel that's vanished in this region of space was lured in the same way." Jellico was as matter-of-fact as usual.  
  
Still, the other officers were taking umbrage. Troi sighed. "He's right. Is the signal mobile?" Ordinarily, the beacon was activated after the order to abandon ship was given. It wasn't exactly a distress call in the way Geordi interpreted.  
  
"It's not in sensor range. Let me run. . . ." Edison swiftly worked at his console for a few moments. "I would have to say that it is. We first picked up the signal eight minutes ago -- we should have moved further away from it, given our current speed and heading, but it's got to be paralleling our course."  
  
"Continue monitoring and let me know if there's any change. Increase speed to warp five." Troi spent the minutes doing scans of her own, checking on Yves and her husband. The familiar begrudging cooperation that indicated Jean-Luc was in counseling told her Davidson was still with him. Jean-Luc was tired, a little hungry, and somewhat angry. Nothing out of the ordinary. The undifferentiated mild anxiety of the crew rose slightly with the increase in speed, but settled again. Tense minutes passed.  
  
"Are we still receiving them?" she asked after ten minutes.  
  
"Yes, sir," Edison said briskly. "Still faint, but constant."  
  
"That would seem to indicate responsiveness," Jellico said.  
  
"Or coincidence," Troi added, and Jellico nodded. "Estimated arrival at the first outpost?"  
  
"Two hours, twenty-seven minutes," Rangel said.  
  
"Contact me when we arrive. I'm going to get something to eat. Mr. Carlisle, do you have a moment?"  
  
He followed her into the ready room. Fidele, in his rush to stay at her heel, bumped against her leg, reminding her he was still there. He still had the padd in his mouth, too.  
  
Ward sat where Jellico had been and waited for her to return from the replicator. "I'm sorry about this morning," he said, truly repentant. "It won't happen again."  
  
"I know. Has Jellico spoken to you at all?"  
  
Ward blinked. "No. Well -- just in passing. A few questions about what I was doing at the time, a bit of chitchat."  
  
"What were you doing when he spoke to you?"  
  
"I was at my station on the bridge. I was sorting out the duty roster for the bridge, once, and a couple other times I was checking through the scanner logs."  
  
"What sort of questions did he ask?"  
  
"He commented that he was seeing the same people on the bridge more often than he expected -- that we seemed short-handed. I told him we were in the middle of a staffing changeover, plus a couple of officers are on extended leave."  
  
"True enough, I suppose."  
  
Ward stared at her. "I'm never going to be forgiven for letting them go, am I?"  
  
Troi pinched the bridge of her nose and watched Fidele sit at attention to her right, the padd still in his mouth, ears trained on her and eyes full of warm acceptance he did not truly feel. The artificial dog had been created with such skill that the disparity between the lack of emotion and the visual cues sometimes distracted her.  
  
"Or is it that you won't forgive yourself? Deanna, you're doing the best you can. We all are. You can't control everything about this circumstance."  
  
She dropped her hand. Turning to face him more squarely across the desk, she took a piece of toast from her plate and reached for her tea. "What were you fighting about this morning with Cecily?"  
  
Ward's turn to look away, at the floor, at the fish tank. "Whether to stay aboard. I'll stay if I can. I need to see this through -- get them back. If something happens to them. . . ." He waited, but she had nothing to contribute to that train of thought. The realization that she wouldn't respond dawned on him after a few moments. As she waited, he considered, made a decision, and became sad. "The admiral doesn't say much to any of us, other than a question now and then. You don't seem to like having him aboard."  
  
"I -- " The annunciator sounded. "Come."  
  
When Counselor Davidson came in, Ward excused himself, brushing past Davidson, who looked askance at his retreating back before taking the chair he'd vacated. "Good morning. How are you?"  
  
Troi thought about Mengis' assessment of the captain. "The same. How about you? Has the admiral spoken to you?"  
  
"Not really, which, considering how inquisitive he was initially about the Asili and the captain, is surprising. Why do you ask?"  
  
"I have the feeling he's testing someone. Whether it's only me or the crew in general is the question."  
  
"And the answer determines your response?" Davidson slumped in his seat, the only one who ever did so in the ready room.  
  
"My response will be to do my job. You just came from the captain?"  
  
"He wants to know what he has to do to get back to normal. It's a more positive direction than before, at least."  
  
Troi gave him a quick-fading smile and munched on her toast for a few moments. "You feel he's made some progress."  
  
"Some, yes."  
  
"I'd like you to summarize the last week's worth of notes and copy it to me and the admiral. How are the Asili doing?"  
  
"Claustrophobic and hungry. I wouldn't want to go in there without Dr. Mengis' 'perfume' on." The chemical compound sickbay had come up with made anyone smell unappetizing to the Asili still residing in the holodeck. Manipulative, but convincing them with words alone that Federation species would be an inadequate food supply would be far less effective given the minimal reasoning ability they demonstrated.  
  
"Are they using the replicators?"  
  
"Yes, but it isn't live food. There's been a lot of fighting amongst themselves." Davidson's face mirrored the disgust Troi sensed.  
  
"We'll be rid of them as soon as we find one of their ships."  
  
"It can't be soon enough for me." He shook himself a little and settled back, crossing his legs. "How are you?" The second time he'd asked - clearly he wasn't going to accept her glib answer.  
  
"As well as one could expect. I need to get some things done, Counselor, could we talk later today? After lunch?"  
  
Davidson didn't quite believe this was true; he suspected something, probably that she was dodging the issue. Which she was. But he left her there without a word.  
  
Once he'd gone, Troi replicated some crackers and a glass of water, then settled back in the captain's chair, set an alarm, and meditated. There would be few opportunities for it when they finally crossed paths with an Asili vessel. She should rest while she could.  
  
\-----------------------------  
  
Natalia knew the routine now. She would be allowed to move from her room to the nearest dining area and back. She could ask the nearest guard to see Varian, who may or may not wish to see her. The guards weren't wearing uniforms, but they were obvious -- any alien standing out of the flow of traffic watching the others was most likely security.  
  
She left her cubicle, smaller than her cabin on the _Enterprise_ , and pulled her shirt closed self-consciously. Few of the alien species she'd seen wore much clothing; getting this simple shirt had been difficult. Finding something to hold it closed would be even more difficult. She'd seen no hint of any material she might use, and while tearing strips from the ragged bottom hem to use as laces was a possibility, that might result in the thing just falling apart.  
  
The ribbed corridor with its dim lighting was not unlike walking down someone's esophagus, Natalia thought, disliking the dull whitish-gray surfaces. The spongy black flooring under her bare feet only reinforced this perception. The entire ship seemed in a constant state of disrepair; she'd nearly tripped over countless components randomly dropped on the floor. There was none of the organization or efficiency of Starfleet. Varian had said her this was a ship of refugees. Once she and her friends had been there for a specific quarantine period, they would be re-evaluated and released to join the population.  
  
Or so she'd been told.  
  
Not having anyone she could trust had begun to wear on her. She hadn't seen a single species she recognized. Every look, every movement in her general direction, resulted in a jolt of adrenalin; she couldn't walk or run or do anything to take her mind off her situation for a moment. With no relief in sight she felt lost and weary, and it hadn't been long at all. Certainly not as long as other officers had been in captivity during the Dominion War -- those officers had made it through months in prison camps and been recovered. And what did undercover agents do to stay sane?  
  
They're trained for it, though, the other side of her mind argued. She wasn't. She was still very much a novice, despite the lieutenant's pips.  
  
She stopped in a familiar junction of passages. Traffic seemed heavier than usual. Among the aliens crawling, walking and gliding by, she caught a glimpse of a short-haired, blond head, bobbing slightly.  
  
"Hey!" she blurted.  
  
The head turned, revealing a human face down to the blue eyes, pale skin, and open mouth. He made his way through the flow of pedestrian traffic, until he cleared the intervening column of bodies and Natalia could see he was a she. The other woman had no shirt; her breasts sagged, broad dark aureolas turned to the floor.  
  
Once the shock of seeing a stranger of her own kind in the middle of all this ebbed, Natalia realized that the woman must have been aboard for a long time. Her hair was unevenly cut and stood straight out from her head -- obviously done with something sharp and not meant for cutting hair. Her skin seemed dry and chapped, and hung loosely around her face. As she sidled closer still, wary and still wide-eyed with surprise, Natalia detected a slight sour body odor.  
  
The woman's expression shifted and she raised a hand to touch Natalia's face. Before Natalia could pull away, bony fingers gripped her chin and suddenly the other's face was centimeters from her own, stale sulfurous air from the woman's open mouth assaulting Natalia's nose. Wild mania in the upturned corners of her mouth and the glassy stare of her eyes triggered Natalia's flinching and backpedaling. Natalia ran up against the wall, bumping her hip against one of the metal ribs.  
  
"Who?" the woman cried. "You are who?"  
  
Natalia recovered, stood away from the wall, and held out a hand. "Natalia Greenman. You?"  
  
"Esther." She whispered as if imparting a secret. Calloused fingertips dragged down Natalia's cheeks one more time. Esther seemed to have no concept of personal space. "You're real. Aren't you? They didn't kill you. They let you go."  
  
"Why wouldn't I be real?"  
  
Esther smiled, revealing gaps in her teeth and alarming madness. "You'll see, dear, yes you will.  
  
\----------------------------------  
  
"It's still there."  
  
Deanna looked up at Ward from the padd. "That's surprising." Two days since they first detected the beacon, and it hadn't moved off?  
  
"The signal's weaker, but there. We're still trying to determine coordinates of origin." Ward slumped in the chair, looking bleary-eyed and older. "I have to wonder why we're the first ones who've picked it up. That vessel was lost so long ago."  
  
"A lure, as Jellico suggested, would have been picked up before but not necessarily reported. We need to know more. What can we do?"  
  
"Mr. LaForge is working on a probe. He thinks we can deploy two, one to boost the signal of the other, the second to scan for life signs and transmit an encrypted message to the _Adamant_. If we remove any identifying marks it would be less obvious that they're Federation hardware, if that's an issue."  
  
Deanna tapped the padd on the captain's desk. "Let's do that. Any information we can get can only help us."  
  
"It's quiet on the bridge, and we'll reach the second outpost tonight, in about six hours. Why don't you get an early dinner and some rest? I'll stick around after the shift change."  
  
"I believe I'll take you up on that."  
  
On the way home, she had to field questions from a few ensigns who had expected to meet Natalia for battle drills on the holodeck. The assertion that Nat had taken leave tasted bitter and she tried not to scowl as she gave a half-truth. Deanna made a mental note to check the schedule, make sure there were no more scheduled simulations involving Natalia, and kept walking.  
  
She was greeted at home by Guinan and Yves, who ran to his room for something to show her, Fidele at his heels. Guinan gestured at the master bedroom. "He's taking a nap before dinner. It's been a busy day."  
  
"I don't want to ask you to stay -- is there someone else who could come sit with Yves? Or perhaps you could drop him off at Malia's?"  
  
Yves returned then with a drawing she admired with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. He'd been turning out pictures of Fidele and experimenting with browns and reds in the attempt to capture the dog's deep russet coat accurately. This version had a crescent shaped toothy grin, larger than the dog's triangular head.  
  
"Let's go show it to Malia and Kenny," Guinan suggested. Yves thought nothing of it, charging for the door. Deanna mouthed a thank you to Guinan and watched them leave, Fidele trotting after them.  
  
Jean-Luc sprawled on the bed, mouth open, and when she prodded his shoulder gently he rolled on his left side, facing the wall. She sat down to pull off her boots. Her stomach would awaken her when it was time to eat; she'd been getting hungry on a schedule lately, usually every few hours, and she'd just snacked on something in the ready room just before speaking to Ward.  
  
"Dee."  
  
She looked over her shoulder. Jean-Luc hadn't moved. Talking in his sleep again? Sighing, she unfastened her pants, took off her jacket, and would have simply laid down at that point, but took another moment to remove her shirt and bra.  
  
"Dee."  
  
"What is it?" She glanced at him again.  
  
"Careful."  
  
"I am being careful. Was there anything in particular that you're worried about?"  
  
Nothing -- unless she counted the snore. Deanna settled next to him and closed her eyes.  
  
\-------------------------  
  
"Dee," he called, running into the darkness --  
  
\-- and sat up, gasping, and discovered his bedroom around him and his wife on the bed next to him, her arms around her head and her knees drawn up against her body. She seemed to be having difficulty breathing. As his hand closed on her shoulder, she flinched away from him.  
  
"Deanna!"  
  
No response, other than an odd whimpering. He realized she must be dreaming, as he'd been. Was it the same nightmare, then? Tugging at her arms didn't work; she went rigid with fear, refusing to unfold.  
  
"We're at home. It's all right," he said. "Wake up."  
  
Something was wrong. She resisted in spite of a good shake of the shoulder, as well. He was about to call for sickbay when she gasped and loosened her limbs, uncurling and settling into a less tense posture. The expression on her face still alarmed him.  
  
There were times telepathy would come in handy, certainly. She obviously dreamed of something disturbing.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked,  
  
Deanna tensed again. Heart pounding, Jean-Luc wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek. "We're all right, Dee. Sshh."  
  
She responded slowly; he felt the tension in her muscles ebb, until she lay in his embrace, her head settling into the pillow next to his. Almost as though she were merely sleeping -- until one noticed the wrinkle in her brow and the clenched fist. He watched her face in the starlight until the frown diminished and he felt he could relax again himself.  
  
He was almost asleep again when her arm twitched. The fist again, with her other hand clutching her wrist. A finger twitched.  
  
"Stand down, Commander," he murmured.  
  
Her fingers relaxed again. The frown eased.  
  
What was she shooting at in her dreams?  
  
He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, thought about green fields full of wildflowers swaying in gentle breezes, sunshine, blue skies, wispy clouds. But the real key to finally being able to relax was a soft snore from her.


End file.
